Deja Vu
by Nancy Kaminski
Summary: Natalie has found Nick's cure, but there's an unforeseen side effect: the cure has erased Nick's memory of the last 800 years.


===========================  
Deja Vu  
by Nancy Kaminski  
(c) April 1997  
===========================  
  
Many moons ago, Lynn Messing posted a challenge---what would happen if Nat cured  
Nick, but the cure made him forget everything that had happened since that  
fateful night in 1228?  
  
The challenge stuck in my head, and I started writing. Slowly. With the help of  
my beta readers, Texas Cousin Jules and Jean Graham, the story gradually came  
together. I hope we caught all the typos and inconsistencies! My thanks go out  
to them many times over for all their help.  
  
We know who these characters belong to. Thank you for letting me twist their  
lives a bit.  
  
Permission is given to the FK Fanfic Website to archive this story. Anyone  
else--ask permission, or I will be forced to hunt you down and kill you.  
  
  
----------------------------------------  
  
"Are you sure?"  
  
Nick looked at Natalie a long moment, then nodded and smiled. "Yes, I'm sure. I  
really think it's going to work this time." He took her hand and squeezed  
gently. "I don't know why, but I have a good feeling about this."  
  
She squeezed back and returned the smile. "I do too. At least all the lab tests  
were a success---that is, as far as I could tell, without trying it on an actual  
'undead' subject."  
  
Natalie had been teetering on the verge of success for months, the test results  
becoming more and more positive. And when success finally came, she repeated the  
final test over and over again before giving Nick the good news, just to make  
sure. She wanted to be cautious, but in the end neither of them could bear to  
postpone actually trying the new serum, risky or not.  
  
So after the end of their Thursday night shifts, Nick had picked her up at the  
morgue and they had gone directly to the loft, the precious vial of serum tucked  
safely into the battered black leather medical bag Natalie clutched tightly on  
her lap.  
  
Nick wanted to try the serum as soon as possible for another reason. "Janette,"  
he explained, "is in Paris. She has been for a month." He groped for words,  
unsure if Natalie understood the nature of the relationship between the vampire  
siblings/lovers. "If this truly works, our---connection---will break. If she is  
far away, it will not be as painful as it would be were she here."  
  
"And Lacroix?" Natalie asked apprehensively. "What about your connection to  
him?" She barely understood this tie between the vampire father and son, but  
from the little Nick had told her, it was deep and constant.  
  
"He will know, no matter where he is," Nick said flatly, his face bleak. "We'll  
just have to deal with that when the time comes." With that, he refused to  
discuss it any more.  
  
Once in the loft, Nick had drained two glasses of cow to ease his inhuman hunger  
"for the last time," he had declared, his expression a cross between revulsion  
and joy.  
  
Natalie nodded in agreement. "Tomorrow, orange juice."  
  
He vaguely remembered eating an orange, a wondrous explosion of sweetness, when  
he had been a mortal Crusader in the Holy Land. The thought of untasted foods  
ignited his imagination. "And eggs, and bacon, and oatmeal, and coffee..." He  
began to twirl her giddily around the kitchen as he grinned and recited a list  
of breakfast delicacies. "And Wheaties, and muffins, and, uhhh, Captain Crunch,  
and..."  
  
"Whoa, buster, don't get carried away!" Natalie gasped as she was whirled to sit  
in a kitchen chair, grinning at his uncharacteristic exuberance. "We're going to  
go easy on the food at first. I don't want to give you your first case of  
indigestion in eight hundred years."  
  
He mimed offense. "Me? I always had a cast-iron stomach---I could eat anything  
and never get sick." He thought a moment, holding up a hand. "Wait. I'm wrong.  
There was that one time when it was a hard winter and we had to eat that rotten  
salted beef..." He shook his head. "I don't think that counts, though, do you?"  
  
She grabbed his hand. "Now is not the time to reminisce about botulism. Are we  
going to do this or not?" They looked at each other, suddenly serious. Nat stood  
up and started leading him towards the stairs and his bedroom, taking her  
medical bag from the table as they passed.  
  
Now, at the moment of truth, she felt as if she had to reassure herself that the  
cure would work; that it wasn't a dead end like the Lidovuterine-B had been;  
that the serum she had stumbled on after years of experimentation and failure  
really would destroy the vampire that was slowly destroying Nick.  
  
Mentally she reviewed her lab tests. She had watched the effects of the serum  
under the electron microscope in her friend Doug's research lab at the  
University of Toronto Medical School; watched as the abnormal vampire gene  
structures were overwhelmed and replaced with normal human ones with amazing  
speed---it had to work on Nick! She said a silent prayer and pushed Nick gently  
back on the bed. "Lie down, now. I don't know what side effects the serum will  
have on you. We don't want a repeat of the last time," she added, referring to  
Nick's collapse on her dissecting room floor.  
  
Nick lay back on the bed. His face was calm, but Natalie could tell he was  
nervous---his muscles were tense, and his hands were clenching and unclenching.  
She rubbed his arm gently. "Try to relax. It'll make it easier to insert the  
IV." The serum had to be infused slowly in a saline drip.  
  
Nick nodded and visibly made an effort to relax himself. "Sorry," he murmured,  
and took a deep breath.  
  
She patted his hand. "Not to worry. You're entitled to a case of nerves. It's  
not every day you decide to change the nature of your existence."  
  
"Yeah---only once every eight hundred years or so. You'd think I would've  
learned my lesson the first time..."  
  
Natalie swatted his arm and said fondly, "Idiot!" Her face grew serious as she  
donned a pair of surgical gloves, swabbed the back of his left hand and found a  
vein, then inserted the needle. She taped it down and connected the saline drip.  
When it was flowing to her satisfaction, she readied the hypodermic with the  
serum. "Ready?"  
  
Nick nodded, his face grim. "Do it."  
  
She injected the serum into the bag of saline. The amber fluid diffused slowly  
into the clear salt solution, gradually tinting it a faint gold. The gold  
started slowly drifting its way down the tubing towards Nick's hand, bringing  
with it its promise of renewed mortality.  
  
Nat sat down in the armchair she had drawn close to the bed and stripped off the  
gloves. "Now all we can do is wait." She put a blood pressure cuff on Nick's  
right arm, and unbuttoned his shirt so she could listen to his heart with her  
stethoscope. "I'll be taking your vitals every fifteen minutes." She rested her  
hand on his and said, "If things go according to plan, they'll start to pick up  
in about an hour."  
  
Nick lay there, his eyes on the IV. "I can't believe this is finally it. I've  
been searching for so long," he said wonderingly. Glancing over at Natalie, he  
smiled. "Thanks to you." He raised her hand to his lips and kissed it, then  
pressed it to his cheek. "You know how I feel about you, don't you? Whatever the  
outcome, that will never change."  
  
Natalie's heart constricted at the trust and unspoken love in his eyes. Her own  
eyes pricked with tears as she smoothed his unruly hair. "I know." She smiled  
tremulously and turned the moment into a joke. "Now just lie still and  
concentrate on becoming mortal, will you?"  
  
His reply devastated her. "That's what I do every minute I'm with you."  
  
Silence fell over the dimly-lit room. The level in the saline drip lowered  
slowly. There was nothing to say; all their hopes for a future together were  
condensed suddenly into an amber fluid, working its chemical magic on a dormant  
body.  
  
After half an hour, Nick murmured, "I feel strange...so tired..." His voice  
trailed off and his grip on Natalie's hand slackened; his eyes drooped shut.  
  
She quickly checked his vital signs. There was no change as yet---they were  
virtually nonexistent---and he appeared to be deeply asleep, almost comatose. So  
far, so good, she thought. God, please make this work, she prayed silently, and  
settled back to wait.  
  
Downstairs, the loft's open shutters let seldom-seen stripes of sunlight move  
slowly across the floor, bathing the austere room with light and heat. Dust  
motes, glinting gold, danced in the faint air movements. And as the day wore on,  
upstairs in the darkened bedroom, the hoped- and prayed-for changes began to  
manifest themselves.  
  
A dormant, cold heart began twitching, its fibers remembering the long-ago  
rhythms of youth and vitality. Lungs began to insist on drawing in air, not to  
speak, not for appearance, but to sustain life itself. The rush of hot,  
oxygenated blood began its purposeful, circular route through arteries, veins,  
and capillaries, flushing the pale white skin with the normal hues of life.  
Natalie's hopes soared with the upward-climbing points she charted on her  
graphs.  
  
The soft blue numbers on the alarm clock silently noted the passage of the day;  
after four hours, Natalie removed the now-empty IV drip from Nick's warm hand.  
He remained motionless save for the quiet movements of his chest as he breathed,  
although she knew drastic things were happening internally. All his systems were  
awakening after almost eight hundred years of unlife.  
  
His vital signs reached human normal---and then, to her alarm, continued  
climbing. Nervously she began taking his temperature every five minutes---98,  
99, 101...in a half hour it soared to 106 degrees. His heart rate increased  
until it was racing at 150 beats per minute.  
  
Finally, Nick seemed to swim upwards to a delirious semi-consciousness,  
muttering and moving restlessly, clear saline sweat pouring down his face as his  
temperature soared. This was something all Natalie's tests couldn't have  
predicted. 'Side effects.' The term sounded so innocuous. The cure worked;  
unfortunately, the patient died...  
  
She fought down her panic and tried to think clinically. She had to get his  
temperature down, that was clear, and fast---his newly-awakened physiology was  
racing like an out of control engine, burning itself up.  
  
Cold water. Get him into the bath and immerse him in cold water! Now if she  
could just get him there...She shook him, hard. "Nick! Can you hear me? Nick!"  
  
He turned his head towards her voice, and muttered something she couldn't  
understand. His eyes were open and fever-bright, but unfocused. She pulled on  
his arm. "C'mon, Nick, stand up."  
  
Somehow she managed to get him off the bed and standing on unsteady legs, his  
arm draped heavily over her shoulders. He suddenly seemed to weigh a ton.  
Putting her arm around his waist, she pulled him towards the door. "Walk,  
dammit. C'mon, Nick, help me!"  
  
They weaved unsteadily down the hall to the bathroom, Nick almost collapsing  
several times. Natalie ended up supporting almost all his weight most of the  
way. She could feel his heart pounding in his chest, as though it were trying to  
break free.  
  
When they got into the bathroom, she half lowered, half dropped him into the  
tub, wincing at the solid *thunk* when he hit. He lolled limply against the cool  
porcelain. Frantically she tore his shoes and socks off. She fairly ripped his  
shirt off, then managed to maneuver his jeans and underpants over his hips,  
tossing the discarded clothes in the corner. Get the water started, idiot! She  
turned the cold water faucet on full force and closed the drain.  
  
She turned back to Nick, pulled two towels from the towel rack and padded the  
slanted end of the tub under his head so he wouldn't concuss himself on the  
porcelain. Thank God the tub was just short enough for his six-foot frame that  
he wouldn't easily slide under the water. Damn! She needed her medical gear! She  
hated leaving him for even a second, but she had to get it from his room.  
  
Natalie ran down the hall and gathered her equipment into her arms. Racing back,  
she was relieved to find him in the same position. He was muttering in his  
feverish delirium, his head rolling from side to side, his fingers plucking  
feebly at nothing, splashing in the icy water.  
  
The water was almost halfway up his chest---any deeper, and he really could go  
under and drown. She turned off the faucet and took his temperature again. If it  
didn't start going down soon, she would have to call the paramedics and get him  
into the hospital fast, and worry about explanations later.  
  
His temperature was 105---the cold water had already started lowering it, thank  
God. She put her fingers over his carotid artery and counted his pulse. She felt  
a rush of relief---it was down to 100 beats per minute.  
  
Ice. Ice would help lower his temperature even faster. She remembered the big  
bag of ice he kept for her soft drinks in the freezer compartment of his  
refrigerator. She checked his position again---the wet towels behind his head  
and back were keeping him more or less in one place. "Don't move," she ordered  
her semi-conscious patient, and ran downstairs for the ice.  
  
After she dumped the ice into the water, she sat back on her heels and looked at  
him. He was panting, his eyes half open and vacant, but he seemed calmer.  
  
Natalie suddenly realized this was the first time she had seen him naked---even  
when she had had to dig bullets out of him, he managed to stay covered  
everywhere except the site of the wound. She wondered if his modesty was the  
result of his upbringing, or just a reluctance to expose his abnormally pale  
skin to public scrutiny. She knew there were jokes among the women at the  
precinct, about how Nick was 'the most clothed man on the force,' and that he  
was never seen with even his top shirt button undone, or his sleeves pushed up.  
And here she had him, au naturel, as it were. If only the situation weren't so  
serious...She shook her head. How could she be thinking like this during this  
crisis?  
  
She took his temperature again. The little electronic thermometer beeped and  
registered 102.4 on its blue LED readout. She relaxed a fraction more, and went  
back to studying him until her next temperature check.  
  
His skin was remarkably smooth, his chest lightly dusted with golden hair. There  
were no scars to mark the places where she knew he had been shot---it really was  
true, vampires healed as if they had never been hurt, even the most grievous  
injury. But there were still scars here and there; she supposed they were relics  
of his mortal life. There was a dimpled scar on his thigh, obviously a puncture  
wound---an arrow?---and a long weal just above his left hip. It looked like it  
had been deep and ugly; the scar was puckered and uneven. She speculated on how  
he had been wounded, and what kind of treatment he would have received for such  
an injury---probably just bandaging and perhaps poultices. It looked like it had  
been infected and very painful. She shuddered at the thought.  
  
Her eyes strayed a little lower, feeling guilty for looking at him this way when  
he was unconscious, but still, she couldn't resist. He was well-proportioned,  
and, she noted, uncircumcised.  
  
Overall, he was nicely muscled, especially his upper body, something not usually  
noticeable under his well-tailored clothes. She noted with interest his right  
arm and shoulder were more developed than the left---from wielding a sword? It  
seemed likely. Once, Nick, in a more than usually outgoing mood, had delved into  
his storeroom and shown her his battered sword. She had marveled at the weight  
and length of it. She remembered wondering how he had managed to keep it all  
those hundreds of years.  
  
She dragged her mind back to the matter at hand and looked at her watch. It had  
been forty-five minutes since she had gotten him into the bath. She checked  
again. His temperature was 100, and his heart rate had slowed to a much more  
normal 80 beats per minute. Considering what his body was going through, that  
was well within the normal range. His respirations had slowed, too, and he was  
no longer breathing through his mouth. It looked like this crisis had passed,  
and she fervently hoped for no more medical surprises.  
  
She gave him another twenty minutes in the cold water, then started draining the  
tub. Nick was resting quietly, though he looked drawn and tired.  
  
Natalie opened the cupboard to look for more towels. Now she had to worry about  
getting him dried off and warm. She paused and stretched her back out, fervently  
hoping he would be able to get back to his room under his own power. Her back  
ached from supporting most of his weight earlier, and she didn't relish the  
thought of doing it again.  
  
She turned around, towels in her arms, to find he was looking at her, awareness  
growing in his eyes. She smiled, suddenly overcome by the knowledge her cure had  
worked---he was mortal! She knelt down next to the tub, dropped the towels, and  
touched his cheek. "Welcome back to mortality, Nick." Her smile wavered,  
threatened to become tears. "It worked, Nick. There were a few bumps, but it  
worked. You're mortal again. Can you feel your heart beating?" Why doesn't he  
say something?  
  
Nick remained silent. He looked around him with a strange expression on his  
face, becoming aware of his nudity with a start. A flush of red started on his  
chest and spread over his face as he attempted to cover himself in  
embarrassment. Spying one of the fresh towels, he grabbed it and draped it over  
his waist, then stared at Natalie and said something in a language she had never  
heard before.  
  
She laughed nervously. "Nick, cut it out! This isn't the time to show off your  
language skills. Tell me how you feel." As he looked at her blankly, her  
welcoming smile faded.  
  
He asked the question again, and at her incomprehension, changed to a strangely  
accented French. "What am I doing here? What is this place?"  
  
Natalie stared at him slackjawed; she felt as if she had been hit by a sack of  
cement. She took a moment to gather her whirling thoughts and dredged up the  
remnants of her high school and college French classes. Haltingly, she said,  
"You are at home. In your bathroom. The medicine I gave you made you hot, and I  
had to get your temperature down." She gestured. "So I put you in cold water."  
  
He pulled himself to a sitting position and groaned involuntarily, rubbing his  
temples as if he had a headache. He looked around again, examining the gleaming  
porcelain and chrome fixtures, the lights...and her. His gaze lingered on her  
legs rather longer than necessary. Finally he dragged his eyes up to meet hers.  
  
"I don't recognize this place. You say this is my home? Surely not---it is very  
strange, and very rich. I have yet to make my place in the world, and own no  
such estate." He eyed her speculatively. "And you have the advantage of me,  
Mademoiselle. You address me so familiarly, but I regret I do not know your  
name." He arranged the towel more securely, and shifted uncomfortably. "This is  
most unseemly, and to be seen thus by a lady..."  
  
His eye roved over her again, taking in her short skirt and sleeveless blouse.  
"Your dress is most unusual." Despite his embarrassment, his eyebrow quirked and  
he smiled appreciatively.  
  
Natalie's thoughts flew. He didn't remember her---apparently, he didn't remember  
anything. That first language he spoke must have been Brabantish---it sounded  
Germanic or Dutch. The analytical part of her mind continued to hum along while  
the rest of it edged closer to panic mode. And that barely-understandable French  
must be the dialect he learned in his youth. She realized she had used the  
familiar 'tu' rather than the formal 'vous,' and if he had reverted to his  
medieval self, she must look next to naked to him. And being unclothed and in  
the company of a woman...no wonder he was blushing. Of course, he could have  
made other assumptions about her...  
  
Self-consciously she tugged at the hem of her skirt and said, "My name is  
Natalie Lambert. We are good friends. You have been, uh...ill...and I have been  
helping you get well." She was careful to speak formally this time.  
  
"I have been ill?" He grimaced. "Truly, I don't feel well. My head is aching and  
I feel very weak." He glanced down at himself. "Where are my clothes?"  
  
Natalie looked at the clothes thrown haphazardly in the corner. That wouldn't  
do---he probably would have difficulty dressing himself in twentieth century  
garb, and she didn't want to embarrass him any more than he was already by  
helping him. There was a terrycloth bathrobe hanging on the back of the door.  
She held it out to him and said, "You can wear this for now." The whole  
situation was beginning to feel surreal.  
  
He stood up carefully, clutching the towel with one hand and pressing the other  
to the tiled wall for balance. Safely on his feet, he held out his hand for the  
robe. Natalie wordlessly handed it over. He turned to the wall and slipped it  
on, tying the belt securely before turning around again and cautiously stepping  
out of the tub.  
  
"Tell, me, do you know what year it is?" Natalie asked carefully.  
  
He glanced sharply at her. "Of course---the second year in the reign of his  
majesty, Louis the Ninth. 1228. Why do you ask me this?"  
  
Natalie said faintly, "It's nothing. Never mind." Oh, God, it's really true. He  
doesn't remember anything. I've got Neecolah Mark One on my hands.  
  
Nick's gaze wandered over the bathroom again, ending up staring at his image in  
the large mirror over the sink. "My hair has been shorn," he murmured, fingering  
the length of hair at the back of his neck. "And I am so pale---truly I must  
have been ill a long while." He stared at the mirror itself and touched it  
tentatively. "What an amazing looking glass."  
  
Suddenly he clutched at his stomach. "Oh, God, I am going to be sick," he  
groaned as he doubled over and began retching.  
  
Natalie pushed him over to the toilet, hurriedly flipping up the lid. He  
collapsed to his knees and vomited his final meal of blood into the toilet,  
spasming over and over, then sat limply on the floor, breathing heavily. He  
wiped the cold sweat from his forehead with a trembling hand, and gasped, "I'm  
dying, aren't I? I have seen men who brought up blood...oh God." He leaned his  
head back against the cool tiles and looked up at Natalie with frightened eyes.  
"What has happened? Was I poisoned?"  
  
Natalie handed him a glass of water. "No, you've just been sick a long time,"  
she said gently. She was almost elated at the sight of his body rejecting the  
blood it had demanded for so long. "You were just getting rid of the illness.  
You'll be all right now." I hope, she added to herself.  
  
Nick shakily drained the glass of water and handed it back to her with a sigh.  
He seemed willing to accept her reassurances---for now. "More, please."  
  
Natalie took the glass. "In a moment. Let's get you back to your bedroom so you  
can rest." She held out her hand to help him to his feet.  
  
He smiled briefly, then grimaced. "If only my head were not aching so," he  
apologized, accepting her hand and standing awkwardly.  
  
"The rest should help," she said reassuringly, and led him down the hallway  
towards the bedroom. Fortunately, he was too caught up in how ill he felt to pay  
attention to his surroundings. He didn't even look as they walked slowly past  
the balcony overlooking the loft's main floor.  
  
Natalie suddenly foresaw problems---lots of problems. If he truly was amnesiac,  
how was she going to explain this world to him? Everything, from clothing to  
indoor plumbing, was going to be strange and new. She fervently hoped this  
condition was temporary.  
  
Natalie ushered Nick into the bedroom and pointed him at the bed while she  
swiftly looked around the room. No glaringly obvious examples of modern  
technology were there, except for the lamps and the digital alarm clock/radio.  
She casually toed the clock's plug out of the wall socket. The last thing she  
needed was an alarm clock going off and scaring her newly-mortal patient to  
death. There was nothing she could do about the lamps; Nick's bedroom had no  
windows and they needed the light they provided. She hoped he was too distracted  
to look at them carefully. "Lie down and try to rest. I'll get you some more  
water."  
  
She went downstairs to the kitchen, found another glass, and filled a pitcher  
with cold water. She stopped briefly in the bathroom to collect Nick's discarded  
clothes, then returned to the bedroom, balancing the pitcher on top of the  
untidy pile. Back in the bedroom, she found Nick in bed as ordered, looking wan  
and tired but gazing around the room apprehensively.  
  
Pouring a glass of water, she offered it to him and said, "Here, drink this. You  
must still be thirsty."  
  
He accepted the glass and drained it dry. "My thanks, Mademoiselle---Natalie?  
Where are we? Is this Paris?" He handed the glass back and she refilled it.  
  
Giving him the glass again, she said, "Uh, no. We're in Toronto." She thought  
she'd leave out the more messy details, such as being on the other side of the  
ocean. She busied herself shaking out his clothes and folding them neatly on the  
dresser. Casually, she said, "Tell me, Nicolas," Natalie felt odd, pronouncing  
his name that way like she was doing a bad Janette imitation. "What is the last  
thing you remember before waking up here?"  
  
He ran a finger around the rim of the glass thoughtfully, watching her. "I was  
at an inn, on the Ile de la Cite, supping with my companions. We were newly  
arrived in Paris from the Holy Land, returning from the wars." He grimaced at  
the memory. "It had been a hard journey, and many of us had been injured." His  
hand strayed to his left hip where Natalie had seen the fearsome scar. "We were  
resting for a time before continuing on the final leg of our journey to Brabant.  
I remember a beautiful young woman calling to me from across the room..." His  
voice trailed off, and he blushed again. He cleared his throat. "Beyond that,  
everything is in a mist. I woke up here."  
  
In spite of the gravity of the situation, Natalie could barely suppress a grin.  
He remembered more, all right---the night of revelry with Janette, no doubt, but  
he obviously wasn't going to discuss it with her. Chivalry isn't dead, she  
thought.  
  
Nick's gaze wandered around the strange room, taking in the fixtures. A thought  
occurred to him. "Where are my possessions?"  
  
"Your possessions?" Natalie echoed. She gestured. "All this is yours."  
  
"No, not this," he replied impatiently. "My cloak, my hauberk, my weapons, my  
horse...all I own in the world." He looked at his right hand. "My ring, given me  
by my mother when I left for the Holy Land."  
  
"I'm sorry, Nicolas, they are all gone." She wasn't about to mention the sword  
in the storage room; visions of Nick traipsing around with a sword slung at his  
waist were too horrible to comtemplate. A thought occurred to her. "No, wait, I  
think..." She went to the dresser and opened a carved wooden box sitting on the  
polished wood. Nick had shown her the box and its cherished contents several  
months ago. Fishing out a small chamois pouch, she took it to him and asked, "Is  
this the ring?"  
  
He opened the pouch and shook it out. A heavy gold ring, worn smooth with age,  
fell into his palm. Tracing the outline of the inlaid heraldic crest with the  
tip of a finger, he said, "Yes, this is my ring. See, it bears the arms of my  
family." He held it up for her inspection. "But it is so worn. It was not thus  
when I wore it last." He stared at it uneasily, fingering the time-smoothed  
surfaces, and then slipped it on his finger. "I don't understand what has  
happened." His eyes turned to her again. "Truly, all my possessions are gone?  
Were they sold to pay for my keep here?" He looked troubled and upset at his  
loss.  
  
Natalie sighed. "No, they weren't sold. It's...it's a long story." She changed  
the subject. "Are you hungry?"  
  
He nodded. "Yes. I think I could keep some bread and meat down. My stomach feels  
more settled now." He rubbed his temple again and added, "Perhaps some food will  
ease this aching head."  
  
Natalie stood up and said briskly, "Well, I can fix that. I am a physician,  
after all." Rummaging in her medical bag, she pulled out a bottle of ibuprofen  
and shook two tablets out. "Here, swallow these. They will ease your headache."  
She handed him the tablets with another glass of water.  
  
Nick was staring at her. "You are a physician? I have heard of ladies well-  
versed in midwifery, but---a physician? Your husband allows this? Amazing." He  
looked at the pills dubiously. "And what are these?"  
  
"It's all right. It's just a special medicine for headaches. And there is no  
husband, and women can be physicians here, if they wish. So swallow them,  
please." She crossed her arms and stared at him, waiting.  
  
He meekly swallowed the pills and drank another glass of water. Wiping his mouth  
on his sleeve, he said, "This is indeed a strange land." He snorted softly.  
"Women as physicians, indeed---although I must admit, these tiny things are  
easier to swallow than Brother Antoine's potions. He can brew up the nastiest  
remedies of any herbalist I've ever known." He put the glass on the bedside  
table and started to stand.  
  
Natalie pushed him back down on the bed. "No, I told you to rest. You're too  
weak to walk around. I'll bring some food for you. Just stay here." She wasn't  
prepared for him to go downstairs yet, not until she had a chance to  
'technology-proof' it, at least to some extent.  
  
"Have your servant bring the food---stay here, Mademoiselle Natalie, and tell me  
about the kingdom of Toronto. Who is your liege lord? How far are we from Paris?  
I confess, I have never heard of this place, but the world is wide, as I have  
learned from my travels." He settled comfortably back down and crossed his arms.  
"And please, who is master of this house? I must thank him for his hospitality."  
  
"I told you, you own this place...no, never mind," she said in exasperation at  
his puzzled expression. She headed for the door. "There aren't any servants, so  
I'll just go down to the kitchen and get you something. Just stay here," she  
repeated, and closed the bedroom door behind her.  
  
Closing her eyes, she leaned against the door and sighed. Her head was hurting,  
too, and she was desperately tired. She wished she had taken some ibuprofen for  
herself. She briefly considered going back in the bedroom and getting the  
bottle, but couldn't bring herself to face Nick again so soon. She needed a  
moment to collect her thoughts.  
  
The sun was almost down; the last vestiges of a red sunset suffused the loft as  
she slowly descended the stairs. What would she do if he didn't regain his  
memory in the next few days? He obviously couldn't go to work in this  
condition---hell, he couldn't even leave the loft in this condition.  
  
Not that he needed the job, but she couldn't resign for him. Captain Cohen would  
be demanding to talk to him, or at least see a signed letter of resignation. And  
he couldn't just not show up, either. They would search for him, and the first  
place they'd look would be here. Her headache intensified.  
  
Thank God they both had the entire weekend off for a change. They weren't  
expected at work until Monday night. Maybe he'll remember in a few hours---a few  
days---maybe some solid food will kick in the ol' neurons and this will all go  
away. And if not? She didn't want to think about it. Not right now.  
  
At least she had brought a grocery bag full of food. Canned chicken noodle soup,  
some apples, a loaf of bread, butter, a carton of milk---she could throw  
together something that wouldn't be too jarring to him, physically or mentally.  
  
As the soup heated, she found the remote and closed the window shutters. At  
least he wouldn't be able to see out if he came downstairs. Nothing I can do  
about the TV, or any of the other electronics, she thought as she surveyed the  
large room. Maybe he'll think they're just boxes, or decorations, or something.  
She decided to turn on one lamp with a three-way bulb to its lowest setting, and  
light candles and turn on the fireplace for additional illumination.  
  
She was lighting the last candle when she heard a noise. She looked up, and  
there he was, tentatively walking along the balcony. He had gotten dressed in  
the clothes she had left folded on the dresser, she saw, right down to the  
sneakers, although his shirt wasn't tucked in, and she couldn't resist wondering  
if he had on the underwear. In the back of her mind she was thankful the jeans  
Nick had worn that day were button fly 501s---she didn't really want to explain  
zipper flies to him at that particular moment.  
  
"Mademoiselle Natalie? Are you near?" Nick's face brightened when he saw her  
looking up at him. "Please pardon me, I know you said I should stay in the  
bedchamber, but where is the garderobe?"  
  
Natalie's French failed her completely. "The what?" she asked.  
  
"The garderobe." He looked at her expectantly.  
  
"The garderobe." Maybe Nick had a French/English dictionary somewhere. She  
looked around as if one would appear magically. It didn't. "I'm sorry, I don't  
know what that is. Could you describe it?"  
  
He seemed nonplused. "The garderobe...where one may..." Natalie could have sworn  
he said "Oh, shit!" under his breath, but he continued gamely on. "Uh, I have  
recently drunk three glasses of water, and have been asleep for a long time, and  
I need to..." He waved his hand helplessly.  
  
The light dawned. "Oh. It's where you were before, where the bath is. Let me  
show you." She quickly turned down the heat under the soup and hurried up the  
stairs.  
  
She made sure she got to the bathroom before he could see her turn on the light  
switch. Oh, great, she thought, looking at Nick's oversized, luxurious bath with  
fresh eyes. Plumbing 101. Oh, well, gotta learn sometime. She became aware of  
him at her back.  
  
"Here's the...thing. Where you were sick before." She flipped up the lid and  
gestured. "When you're done, press this lever and water washes everything away."  
She touched the toilet paper. "Use this to, um, clean yourself, and put it in  
the bowl. All right?"  
  
Nick looked around with wide eyes, apparently more able to appreciate the  
gleaming fixtures than he had been before. "Amazing." It seemed to be his stock  
phrase, not that she blamed him. "I thought this was the bathing room."  
  
"Well, it's both. I'll leave you now," she said briskly. "I'll be downstairs if  
you need me. Your food is almost ready." She turned and without a backward  
glance marched out and shut the door behind her, leaving him staring bemusedly  
at the toilet.  
  
When she returned to the kitchen, someone was waiting for her.  
  
Lacroix.  
  
  
  
Natalie stared at the ancient vampire, a wave of terror washing over her. You  
knew he would show up sooner or later. Well, it happened sooner. "What do you  
want?" she asked curtly, as if mere rudeness could drive him away.  
  
"I will not permit this." His voice was low and dangerous; the barely-contained  
anger emanating from him filled the loft with a tangible presence. "I allowed  
Nicholas to playact at mortality, I tolerated his foolish delusions. But now my  
tolerance is at an end. You are at an end."  
  
Natalie found herself backing away from him until she was pressed up against the  
kitchen counter. Her chin lifted defiantly. "You don't dare hurt me. Nick would  
never forgive you. You'll drive him even further away." Her voice trembled but  
she forced herself to stare directly at him.  
  
"Mortals do not tell me what I may or may not dare!" he hissed. "Your meddling  
with what is mine is over!" He moved with vampiric speed and seized her by the  
neck, his eyes glowing incandescent red and his fangs bared.  
  
"Mademoiselle Natalie?" Nick's voice called from the balcony. "Whatever is  
cooking smells delicious." He started down the stairs and froze when he saw the  
tableau below, his hand reaching to his waist as if for a dagger no longer  
there. Then he saw Lacroix's face.  
  
"Demon!" he gasped, then crossed himself. "In nomine Patris, et Filie, et  
Spiritu Sanctii..." He rushed down the stairs. "Release her, demon!" He grabbed  
a knife from the counter and leaped at Lacroix.  
  
Lacroix brushed him off easily with a sweep of his free arm, then dropped  
Natalie. She crumpled to the floor in a heap, her hands clutching at her bruised  
throat. In a daze, she saw Nick stagger for a second, then rush at Lacroix  
again.  
  
Lacroix caught him in a parody of an embrace, gripping the wrist of Nick's knife  
hand and squeezing until the fingers opened and the knife clattered to the  
floor. He smiled coldly down at him as Nick struggled futilely against the iron  
embrace. "Well, Nicholas, what have we here? This is no way to greet your oldest  
friend."  
  
Nick panted, "Demon! I remember you, you were at the inn..." He started  
swearing, in French and Brabantish, as he continued struggling.  
  
Lacroix swung around to face Natalie, dragging Nick with him. "Well, well, this  
is a curious turn of events, Doctor. Lost his English, has he? What else has he  
lost---besides immortality, that is? His memory, perhaps?" He addressed Nick in  
Brabantish, speaking sharply. Nick answered, his voice contemptuous.  
  
Lacroix just smiled, then centered his gaze on Nick. He stared at him, speaking  
softly as if to a child. Nick's eyes became vacant and his struggles gradually  
ceased under the force of the hypnotic stare.  
  
Natalie's heart sank. Oh, God, he's whammied him! Obviously, the mortal Nick was  
no resister. "Lacroix, what are you doing?!"  
  
Lacroix stared at Natalie with golden eyes, his lips twisted in a cruel smile.  
"Why, my dear Doctor Lambert, I am going to restore Nicholas' memory---and  
everything else he has lost. Then I will take care of you. Or perhaps I will  
allow Nicholas to do so. He will be hungry. That would be poetic justice,  
wouldn't you say?" He ran his hand caressingly through Nick's hair, then down  
his cheek. He gently tilted Nick's head to the side, baring his neck. Looking  
triumphantly at Natalie, he drew back his head and struck.  
  
"No!" Natalie levered herself to her feet and began pounding her fists on  
Lacroix's broad back. Sobbing, she screamed, "Stop! No! You can't do this! No!"  
She heard the awful animal snarlings rumbling from his chest as he bit into  
Nick's neck. She flailed at him, hitting blindly with no effect. "Noooooo!"  
  
Suddenly Lacroix roared, an inhuman animal scream of pain. He jerked away from  
Nick and violently threw him across the room, where he landed in a boneless  
heap, his head hitting a table leg with an audible crack. "What have you done to  
his blood?!?" he screamed, coughing and spitting, the blood spraying in arcs  
across the kitchen floor. He staggered across the floor, his face contorted with  
pain.  
  
Natalie cringed away from the enraged vampire as blood droplets spattered her  
face. She closed her eyes, waiting for a renewed attack, but it never came.  
Instead, she heard the whoosh of displaced air as Lacroix leaped up and then  
crashed through the skylight into the night. Glass and wood shattered and fell  
on the floor in tangled, glittering heaps.  
  
Silence fell over the loft. Natalie slowly straightened up from her crouch, numb  
with shock. In the sudden silence she could hear the soup simmering quietly on  
the range. The image of Lacroix's basilisk face, his fangs bared in rage,  
hovered in front of her face. She half expected him to return, but the seconds  
dragged on and the silence remained.  
  
Reality hit her with a hammer blow. "Ohmigod, Nick!" She raced over to the  
recumbent form sprawled gracelessly on the floor near the couch. She knelt next  
to him fearfully, half-expecting him to be dead.  
  
He was unconscious, and he felt feverish again. There was an ugly oozing gash on  
his throat and a lump on the back of the head where he had hit the table.  
Relieved he was alive, she ran up the stairs to the bedroom to get her medical  
bag and ran down again, taking the stairs two at a time.  
  
She wrenched open the bag and laid out her instruments with trembling hands. She  
checked his vital signs. All normal. She ran her hands over his limbs, checking  
for broken bones. Nothing. His pupils were equal and reactive to the beam of her  
penlight. A wave of relief washed over her. She sat back on her heels, buried  
her face in her hands and stifled the sobs that threatened to burst out. Not  
now! I have to think!  
  
She gathered her wits and forced herself to be calm. She straightened Nick's  
arms and legs so he was lying more comfortably, and propped a pillow under his  
head. As far as she could tell, he might have a mild concussion, but that was  
all. Lacroix hadn't taken much blood, thank God.  
  
She neatly bandaged the throat wound and considered trying to move him off the  
floor, but discarded the idea. There was no way she would be able to lift him  
without help. At least he's lying on carpeting and not the hardwood floor. She  
retrieved an afghan from the couch and tucked it around him, then took his  
temperature. It was slightly higher than normal, but nothing to worry about. The  
stress had probably sent it up again.  
  
Natalie became aware of a burning smell. The soup! she thought, and wearily rose  
to her feet. Taking the pot off the burner, she thought ruefully, Well, so much  
for your first meal, as she examined the burned noodles stuck to the bottom of  
the pot. I think it's a trifle overdone. She shrugged and left it in the sink.  
  
She dragged an armchair over to where she could watch Nick and dropped heavily  
into it. Waves of exhaustion flowed over her as she took up her vigil again.  
  
She forced herself to think about what had happened. Something in Nick's blood  
made him poisonous to vampires, or at least to Lacroix.  
  
It must be another side effect of the serum, she mused as she watched over Nick  
for the second time in twenty-four hours, although a more fortuitous one than  
the memory loss. Maybe it means he won't be able to be brought across again. She  
smiled tiredly to herself. Sort of like mosquito repellent, only for vampires.  
  
But did that mean the only reaction to Nick's regained mortality Lacroix and his  
blasted Community would consider was killing him? And her? Why can't they just  
face reality and leave us the hell alone? It's not like we're going to tell the  
world vampires exist. Who would believe us, anyway?  
  
Natalie's head drooped. Her tired mind refused to think any more. It felt like  
she was struggling up an insurmountable mountain; her ears buzzed and the room  
swam before her eyes, and finally she slept.  
  
~~~~~  
  
Nicolas gradually became aware he was lying on a hard surface. No more cheap  
wine for me, he thought groggily as he forced his eyes open a crack. His head  
was pounding, he ached all over, and he felt uncomfortably warm. He gingerly  
felt the lump on his head. I don't remember falling, or getting into a fight...  
  
The memories of the last day came crashing into his consciousness and he bolted  
upright, only to clutch his head and groan. The pounding intensified and his  
neck hurt. He looked around, forcing his eyes to focus.  
  
He was lying on the floor of a large, dimly-lit room with a colorful knitted  
blanket draped over him. A few feet away, the beautiful woman, Natalie, sat  
sleeping in a large cushioned chair, her face drawn in exhaustion, her head  
propped on one hand.  
  
Carefully, he felt his neck. There was a bandage of some sort stuck over his  
throat; he could feel it was sticky with congealed blood. He shuddered,  
remembering the face of the demon, the sensual lips speaking softly as the world  
slowed and contracted to nothingness. Everything had disappeared except that  
voice, boring into his brain and leaching away his will. There had been a  
bright, searing flash of pain and then nothing as he plunged into blessed  
oblivion.  
  
Nicolas stood up and leaned heavily on the back of the couch until the dizziness  
subsided. He had to get away from this strange place---but how? He had no  
weapons with which to protect himself, no coins to buy food or another horse, no  
clothing save what he wore on his back.  
  
He looked at Natalie again. She seemed kind, and she certainly was beautiful,  
but the things she had told him didn't make sense. How did he get here? For that  
matter, where was 'here?' And why was he here? She said he owned this house,  
that everything in it was his, but clearly, that was impossible.  
  
He walked quietly around the room, wondering at the objects on the shelves, the  
incredible number of books---he had never seen so much wealth displayed so  
openly or carelessly!---and the eerie glowing lights on the metal boxes that  
decorated one whole section of shelves.  
  
And why were there no servants? A house this large must have servants, but the  
only people he had seen were Natalie and the demon. For all he knew, he was far  
from any other habitation, a prisoner of these two strangers. Was he somehow  
caught in a fight between two demons? He found it hard to believe Natalie was a  
demon, but they were reputed to take human shape, so who could tell?  
  
He felt a slight breeze and looked up. There was an opening in the ceiling, a  
sort of horizontal window, the frame broken and hanging down. An early morning  
sky cast its light through the aperture. The demon must have gone through there,  
he thought, looking at the shards of glass on the floor, if he just didn't  
disappear in a cloud of smoke, like the tales my old nurse used to tell.  
  
He glanced again at the peacefully sleeping Natalie. He felt a twinge of guilt  
about leaving her, but if the demon was after him, perhaps it would leave her  
alone when he was gone. It was better for all if he left---if she were human, as  
she appeared, she would be safe, and he would have a better chance of eluding  
the demon.  
  
A memory came to him unbidden. The beautiful courtesan, Janette, whispering,  
'His name is Lacroix,' as Nicolas lay in the afterglow of their passionate  
embraces. The demon's name is Lacroix. He shuddered. He knows me and I know him,  
but why? I am a godly man. But the memories of his bitterness towards the Church  
in the wake of the things he had seen and done in its name on Crusade made a  
mockery of his piety. Perhaps he had invited Lacroix's unholy attention with his  
bitterness? He pushed the unwelcome thoughts away.  
  
He quickly searched for some kind of weapon to take with him. If this place  
truly is mine, I can take whatever I please, he told himself, although he still  
felt like a thief. He found the knife he had snatched from the counter in a  
corner. The blade was as long as his hand; testing the edge with his thumb, he  
found it was wickedly sharp, and the wooden haft had a comfortable grip. He  
stuck it through his belt and felt better about facing---whatever. It was a poor  
substitute for his dagger and sword, but it would have to do.  
  
There were apples and what looked like a loaf of soft bread enclosed in a thin  
skin, as transparent as water, and he folded them into a square of cloth he  
found draped over a chair.  
  
He considered his clothes. It had been the depths of winter in Paris, but the  
breezes wafting through the opening in the ceiling were gentle and warm. It must  
be spring, or even summer, now, he thought. How could so much time have passed?  
Still, the garments he wore didn't seem enough if he had to spend nights in the  
open. There should be more clothes in the bedchamber. As quietly as he could he  
mounted the stairs and went down the hall.  
  
A light burned softly on a small table. His mind shied away from wondering how a  
lamp could burn without oil.  
  
Looking around, he saw there was a door slightly ajar in the corner of the room.  
He opened it and found garments hanging neatly in a row on odd wire triangles,  
not pegs as he expected. Pushing through them, he found what looked like a heavy  
black leather tunic. He disentangled it from the wire frame it was hanging on  
and donned it, finding it settled comfortably on his shoulders as if it were  
made for him. Another uneasy thought---perhaps it had been made for him. The  
leather was remarkably soft and supple, and there was some kind of a sliding  
metal tab up the front. He felt a little more prepared to venture out.  
  
As an afterthought, he went over to the large chest and opened the carved box  
that had contained his ring. There were several more chamois pouches inside.  
  
Opening the first, he found a round, gold locket on a short chain. There was a  
glass-covered dial with numbers inscribed around it under the protecting lid. He  
puzzled over it for a moment---what was it?--- then set it aside. He opened the  
other pouches, discovering another gold ring, elaborately carved, and a delicate  
silver chain with a jeweled pendant.  
  
Hastily stuffing the jewels in one of the pouches, he tied it to his belt.  
Better leave before Natalie awakens, he thought. Picking up the cloth holding  
his food, he checked the knife at his side and quietly went downstairs.  
  
Natalie hadn't moved. He could hear her quiet exhalations in the stillness of  
the room. He went and stood over her thoughtfully, then picked the blanket that  
had covered him from the floor and carefully draped it over her. She shifted  
slightly, sighed, and snuggled down further into the chair.  
  
"I am sorry to leave this way, Mademoiselle," he whispered. "You have my thanks  
for your help. Perhaps I will see you again." He brushed a lock of hair where it  
had fallen across her face, then turned to find a way out.  
  
There was a large metal door at the far side of the room. Pushing  
experimentally, he slid it sideways slowly to avoid making noise and looked  
behind it.  
  
There was no hallway or stairs, just a small metal-lined room with more of those  
mysterious knobs on the wall. Perhaps this is a storage room, he thought, and  
let the door slide gently back into place.  
  
He spotted a smaller door on the other side of the kitchen area. Keeping his eye  
on Natalie, he pulled on the handle. Nothing. Impatiently, he tugged again, and  
had to take a quick step backwards to keep his balance when the handle turned  
and the door swung smoothly open.  
  
He peered around the edge of the door. Behind it was a flight of stairs. He  
stepped through and gently shut the door behind him. With it closed there was  
little light. He felt his way down, across a landing and down another flight to  
another door, this one metal and much more substantial than the one at the top.  
  
He remembered to turn as well as pull the handle this time, and the door opened  
with a loud squeak. He froze and shot a glance up the stairs---no reaction from  
above, no sound of discovery and pursuit.  
  
He stepped through and found himself in another large, dimly-lit room smelling  
of damp and strange acrid, metallic odors. At the far end of the room was a door  
with a dusty glass window that supplied the only illumination.  
  
He paused to check if there was anything of use to him, but the room only  
contained more mysterious objects. There were four large metal---carts? They had  
wheels, but nowhere to hitch an animal---things, at any rate, painted bright  
colors. The nearest one was a particularly odd color, the sickly blue-green of  
the sea just before a storm. Each cart had wondrously clear and large glass  
windows.  
  
He moved around the room examining the shelves, but could find nothing that  
looked remotely useful. Time to find out where I am, he thought, and went over  
to the door.  
  
This door was more difficult to open, but after some experimentation he managed.  
Cautiously, he went through it and into the deserted, sunlit lane. The door  
swung closed behind him and shut with a solid thunk. He turned and tried to open  
it again, but it wouldn't budge. It was locked; there was no going back now.  
  
He looked at his surroundings, and the headache that had receded with the  
urgency of escape returned threefold. Although above was the blessedly familiar  
sky, everything else was more alien than even the exotic cities of the Saracens.  
  
There was stone everywhere, not a scrap of green. No grass, no trees, no  
fields...nothing. And the buildings---they loomed over him like huge blocks, all  
angular shapes and graceless walls. Nicolas suddenly felt small and very much  
alone.  
  
The air was filled with the sounds of distant battle---clashing metal, a sort of  
roaring neither human nor animal, and a regular dull thudding, as if a giant  
heart were beating.  
  
Steeling his nerves, he took a deep breath of the strange-smelling air and  
followed the wall of the building from which he had emerged, down the lane  
towards what looked like a larger street. His eyes darted everywhere but he saw  
no evidence there were any other people in this city of stone and noise.  
  
As he neared the corner the roaring became louder. In fact, it sounded as though  
it was approaching him. The noise increased, and he put his hand on the hilt of  
his stolen knife.  
  
Suddenly, a large metal cart like the ones in the room he had just left screamed  
past him at an impossible speed. As he flattened himself to the side of the  
building in terror, he had an impression of a man sitting inside the cart. How  
can it move by itself, his mind screamed. Magic! I have fallen into a city of  
sorcerers and demons!  
  
More of the magic carts streamed past him, each occupied by a blank-faced  
person. One that passed was blaring with a cacophony of demonic music so loud  
the noise of its drums pummeled his chest like a physical force.  
  
The high forbidding buildings seemed to lean over and surround him. In the  
distance, he could see even taller buildings, gleaming like jewels, their roofs  
reaching to the wispy clouds. And towering over even the tallest of them was a  
needle-slender spire, looking like one of Constantinople's pagan minarets grown  
monstrously huge, until it scraped the dome of the heavens.  
  
He was trapped. There was nowhere to go but back, and he could not go back---the  
door was locked. His heart pounded and he trembled with an unreasoning fear even  
greater than the fear he had felt the first time he had gone into battle.  
  
A high whining scream penetrated his numbed brain. Automatically, he looked up.  
A huge gleaming bird-shaped thing was flying through the sky. It screamed like  
all the souls in Hell, its red tail flashing in the sun.  
  
Paralyzed with fear, he backed into a recess in the wall and sank to the stone  
pavement. The familiar feel of ordinary sun-warmed bricks against his back  
mocked him with their normalcy in the insane, hellish city.  
  
~~~~~  
  
Natalie stretched, yawned hugely, and cast a sleepy eye downwards to where Nick  
was...  
  
He's gone. She struggled to her feet, trying to disentangle the afghan from  
around her legs. Wait a minute. How did this get here? I covered him with this  
last night. She plucked nervously at the fringe as she looked around for him,  
oddly touched that he cared enough to tuck her in. She dropped it on the end of  
the couch, and called, "Nicolas? Nick? Are you here?"  
  
Her voice echoed through the loft. No answer. She ran upstairs and looked in the  
bedroom, then the bathroom, then started methodically looking everywhere,  
including the closets. Nothing, although one closet's contents were disarranged,  
the shirts jammed together, something the previous Nick would never have  
tolerated. He was fanatical about his clothes. He must have been looking for  
something else to wear. There was no way he could get into the rest of the  
warehouse. The two doors leading to Nick's storage areas were solidly locked.  
  
The now-familiar panic started to set in again. Could he have gone outside? He  
probably didn't use the elevator. She didn't think he could figure it out, and  
anyway, it made so much noise she would have been woken up by the din. But if he  
found the stairs to the garage...  
  
She ran downstairs. The garage stairs door was slightly ajar, the lock's tongue  
caught on the jamb.  
  
She practically flew down the stairs and wrenched open the metal door at the  
bottom. "Nicolas!!" she called again. She paused, her hand resting on the  
Caddy's fender, straining her ears for some reply, some sound. Her voice echoed  
through the cavernous garage. "Where's your daddy, huh? See him go by?" she  
murmured as she patted the fender. There was no answer, either from Nick or his  
beloved car. She hurried to the alley door.  
  
She glanced up and down the alley and headed for the street. A semi lumbered  
past and sounded its air horn at an unsuspecting driver at the corner  
intersection. Natalie flinched at the noise, imagining how it would seem to  
Nick. In his world, the loudest sounds would have been those of nature, the  
crack of thunder and the din of a rainstorm. There was nothing that compared to  
what she considered the normal background noises of city life.  
  
She reached the corner and stopped. Left or right? She looked left. There was no  
one on the street, nothing unusual in this warehouse district. Pedestrians were  
few in the busiest of times. She looked right, and her breath caught in her  
throat.  
  
Nick was huddled in a recessed doorway, the entrance to the offices of a long-  
closed hardware distributor. For a moment all she could think about was how he  
looked in the sunlight. A shaft of the morning sun slanted down and illuminated  
his face, throwing the angles and planes into sharp relief. There were golden  
glints in his dark blond hair and his eyes were bluer than they had ever looked  
under artificial light. He's so beautiful, she thought.  
  
She hurried to him and crouched down beside him. His dark blue eyes were haunted  
as they fixed themselves on her face. Another horn blared, and he flinched,  
shrinking back further into the doorway.  
  
She touched him gently on the arm. "It's not what you are used to, is it?" she  
asked softly. He shook his head but said nothing. "Come back to your home," she  
urged, taking his hand and standing up.  
  
He looked up at her and finally spoke. "What is this Toronto?" he asked, his  
voice strained. "Is everything here magic? Is everyone a demon, or a sorcerer?  
Why am I here? Can I not go back to my home?"  
  
Natalie ached for him. He looked so lost, like a little boy who had run away  
from home and discovered how frightening the world could be. "Come with me,  
Nicolas. I promise, I will explain what has happened."  
  
Slowly, he stood up. She saw that he had wrapped food in a dish towel, and had  
the big kitchen knife stuck in his belt. Just like a child running away from  
home, she thought and immediately felt ashamed at the comparison. No, he is a  
grown man, a brave man, thrown into a situation he couldn't hope to understand.  
  
Together they went back down the alley. "This door, Nicolas," she called when he  
veered towards the garage door further down the side of the building. "That door  
needs a key to open, and I don't have one."  
  
He watched warily as she punched the code into the security panel, and jumped  
slightly when the door unlocked with a metallic clunk. Once inside, though, he  
relaxed a little.  
  
Natalie watched him as she punched the button for the elevator. "Don't worry.  
It's just a machine," she explained soothingly as the elevator mechanism ground  
its way down the shaft. When the door opened, she practically had to pull him  
into the elevator car. He went reluctantly.  
  
"What is this? I saw this room, only it was upstairs before."  
  
"All this is, is a box that is pulled up and down with ropes. It will take us to  
the next floor." He said nothing, just braced himself for another unpleasant  
experience, staring fixedly at the elevator wall.  
  
She pushed the button for the loft and the elevator creaked upward. When the  
door opened to reveal the loft, Nick practically jumped through it to stand once  
more on familiar ground.  
  
He went over to the kitchen table and sat down, tension visible in every line of  
his body. "You said you would explain everything. Please do so." His voice was  
edgy, with a hint of authority behind the curt politeness. Natalie was reminded  
that in his world, he was used to being respected and obeyed by almost everyone  
he met. He couldn't pigeon-hole her into any of the social hierarchy he knew,  
but he had obviously decided she wsa not quite his equal, and spoke accordingly.  
  
"First, some food." Anything to delay the inevitable. She went back to the  
grocery bags, pulled out a package of sweet rolls and then put some water on for  
tea.  
  
She arranged the sweet rolls on a plate and put it on the table in front of him.  
Sitting down, she started, "It's a long story."  
  
Nick picked up a sweet roll, examined it, and then took a tentative bite. A look  
of appreciation swept across his face and he made quick work of the pastry and  
then took another.  
  
Natalie watched with some amusement as he tore through that one, too. She had  
dreamed of a time when she could watch him eat without him making horrid faces,  
but faced with the prospect of explaining how he had spent the last eight  
centuries dampened her pleasure considerably.  
  
He looked up at her and raised an eyebrow. He had relaxed a bit with the food.  
"Well?" He took yet another sweet roll, but didn't eat it. "A long story is best  
started at the beginning."  
  
The kettle whistled and she jumped up to take it off the heat, glad for the  
momentary reprieve. She made two mugs of tea and brought them to the table.  
"It's tea," she explained. "Let it cool off a bit before you try it."  
  
Cradling her mug in her hands, she started again. "You asked if the city is  
magic. Well, it isn't---it's just different from what you are used to."  
  
She paused, rotating the mug between her hands nervously. Now came the hard  
part. "Nicolas, many years ago you were...enchanted...by Lacroix. The one you  
called a demon. I---we---you and I, that is---have been trying to remove the  
enchantment, and we finally did yesterday." Oh God, was it only yesterday?  
"There is just one problem. You have lost your memory of all the years you spent  
under his spell."  
  
Nick sat motionless, his meal forgotten. "How long was I under this spell?" he  
finally asked.  
  
Natalie swallowed. "Eight hundred years." The bald statement hung in the air.  
  
"No," he whispered. He pushed the mug of tea away from him and stood up. He  
walked to the windows and looked blindly out on the alley below. "No. Tell me  
this isn't true." His voice cracked with emotion.  
  
Natalie got up and went to stand beside him. She put a comforting hand on his  
shoulder and said sadly, "It's true. Look around you. Things have changed. The  
world is different. Your eyes tell you this is the truth." A host of emotions  
slid across his face---despair, fear, sorrow, confusion."I'm sorry," she added  
helplessly.  
  
He continued staring out the window, his breathing ragged. "If this is true, it  
means my family is dead. I will never see my sister or brother, or my mother,  
ever again," he whispered. Tears ran unnoticed down his face. He turned to her.  
"Do you know their fate?"  
  
She shook her head. "I only know your sister married, and had a son named André.  
You never mentioned your brother or your mother. I'm sorry I can't tell you  
more."  
  
"Mother, Michel, Fleur...oh, God, may your souls rest in peace." He turned away  
from her, his face buried in his hands, his shoulders shaking with grief.  
  
Natalie drew him to her and embraced him. She rubbed his back and murmured with  
tears in her eyes, "I'm so sorry, Nick, I'm so sorry."  
  
They stood embraced in sorrow, Nick's tears hot on Natalie's neck. She pressed  
her cheek to his chest, hearing the all-too-human sounds of grief pouring from  
him, but rejoicing at the same time to hear the reassuring, regular beat of his  
human heart.  
  
His sobs gradually faded away and finally he sighed and disengaged himself from  
her arms. "Forgive me," he said, embarrassed at his display of emotion.  
  
"It's all right. If you want to rest for a while..."  
  
"No, there must be more to...my story." He took a deep breath to compose himself  
and rubbed his reddened eyes. He said resolutely, "I need to know all of it."  
  
Natalie sat back down at the kitchen table and sipped at her now-cool tea. Nick  
sat down and leaned on his hand, staring fixedly at the table. He poked at the  
half-eaten sweet roll and said, "Please. Tell me." He looked up at her, his eyes  
pleading yet fearful at what she would say.  
  
Natalie spoke quietly, telling him of his life with Lacroix and Janette. She  
told him of the terror, the killing, his regrets and his search for humanity and  
forgiveness. She spoke haltingly, pushing her French vocabulary to its limits.  
Nick never interrupted her. His face remained set and expressionless.  
  
Finally Natalie stopped, exhausted, and sat back in her chair. Nick was staring  
fixedly at the wall, his eyes focused on nothing. The tea had long since cooled.  
Stiffly, Natalie rose and started heating water again, thirsty after having  
talked for almost an hour.  
  
After two steaming mugs were before them, Nick pulled himself together and  
finally spoke. "And now what?" he asked. "How do I learn to live in this new  
world? How do I go back to being a 'cop'" ---the English word sounded strange in  
his mouth--- "and pretending everything is just as it was?" He sounded depressed  
and discouraged.  
  
"I don't know. All I know is that I'll do whatever I can to help." She took his  
hand. "I know that I love you, Nicolas de Brabant, as much as I love Nick  
Knight. I will always be here to help you." She smiled crookedly at him.  
  
"Does Nick Knight love you?" he asked seriously, his eyes searching hers.  
  
"I think he does," she said softly. "Although he never used that word, he did  
say things that told me so, before I 'cured' him. He said he always would, no  
matter what happened."  
  
Nick clasped her hand between his. "I think I shall have to remember everything  
very soon, so he will be able to keep his promise to you." He raised her hand to  
his lips and kissed it. "The sooner, the better."  
  
"Yes," Natalie replied. "The sooner, the better."  
  
  
  
Natalie looked at her watch, and was surprised to find it was only ten thirty.  
She felt as if she had been up forever, not three hours.  
  
Nick was wandering restlessly around the main floor of the loft, examining the  
forgotten memorabilia of his many lives. He flipped slowly through the paintings  
stacked against the wall without comment, although he looked puzzled by the  
wildly-colored abstracts, then moved over to the piano and pressed a key,  
sending a single note chiming through the silent loft.  
  
Natalie watched him from the kitchen table. She had switched to downing cup  
after cup of instant coffee in the hope that the caffeine would inspire some  
kind of a bright idea. So far all it had done was put her nerves on edge, send  
her to the bathroom twice, and give her precisely one idea. She didn't consider  
the idea particularly bright---in fact, it scared the daylights out of her.  
  
Nick finally ended up sitting on the sofa, absently fiddling with his fingers  
and staring into the distance. Natalie wondered what he was thinking about. His  
family? His future?  
  
She admitted to herself she couldn't even begin to imagine what his thought  
processes were like. The enormous gap between them, both in terms of time and  
culture, seemed too wide to bridge. But at the same time, there were haunting  
familiarities in the way he tilted his head, the way he gestured when he talked,  
that reminded her of the old Nick. The only thing missing was the underlying  
sadness that was always present in Nick, the weight of eight hundred years of  
hating his existence. Even Nicolas' grief at losing his family was somehow a  
lighter burden.  
  
She went to sit next to him and said, "You know, you still do that."  
  
"What?"  
  
"This. With your fingers. When you're thinking hard, you..." Natalie ran out of  
words and pointed.  
  
He smiled briefly. "Bad habit. My father always told me to learn to sit still  
and be dignified as befitting my rank, but I keep forgetting. And I suppose my  
rank doesn't matter any longer." He stilled his fingers and turned to face her.  
"What are we going to do now?"  
  
"Well," she said reluctantly, "I've got an idea. But it's dangerous, and I don't  
know if you'll agree to go along with it."  
  
"I have faced many dangers in my life. What is your idea?"  
  
She took a deep breath. "Ask Lacroix to hypnotize you---put you under a small  
spell---to see if he can unlock your memory." It sounded crazy, even to her. She  
watched his face as she spoke.  
  
He was horrified. "Invite the wolf into the fold? Surely you are not serious! He  
tried to kill both of us! Why would he even think of helping?"  
  
She conceded, "He was trying to kill me, but he wasn't trying to kill you. He  
was trying to reclaim you as his son. Strange as it seems, I believe he loves  
you. I might be able to persuade him that giving back your memory is the best  
way to keep you part of his family." Assuming he hasn't decided to abandon his  
rebellious child completely and find a new object of obsession, she added to  
herself.  
  
"His family." He made a distasteful face at the thought.  
  
"Yes, his vampire family, you and Janette. He loves you both, in his own way."  
She smiled. "You are his favorite, you know."  
  
"An honor I do not believe I desire. Hmmm." Nick looked thoughtful. "And he can  
do this without, uh, biting me?" He reflexively touched the bandage on his  
throat. "This is what he did to me last night, isn't it? He took away my will,  
and then he bit me."  
  
"All he does is look at you---he doesn't have to touch you. He is very old and  
powerful. I've seen him do it." She smiled. "Actually, I've seen you do it. He's  
better at it than you were, though."  
  
"Well, if he's older, he's had more practice." Nick smiled back at her. "How old  
did you say he is?"  
  
"Ohh, very old. He was a Roman general, or so you told me. That makes him about  
two thousand years old."  
  
"Amazing." Nick became serious. "Can you trust him?"  
  
"I think, if he gives his word, he will keep it. He is honorable in his own way.  
You have to be careful, though. He can be very literal when it suits him."  
  
Nick pursed his lips and sat back, considering the plan. "If you can persuade  
him to agree to this, I will also," he said slowly. "Though the thought makes my  
bones turn to water." He looked at his hands; he was twiddling his fingers  
again. He stilled them. "I don't like being afraid---but I am."  
  
"You should be. But I can't see any other way out of this." She rose and said  
briskly, "But before I talk to Lacroix, I want to do some tests. Will you let me  
take a little bit of blood? I promise, it won't hurt." She headed for her  
medical bag.  
  
He sighed. "It seems everyone wants my blood, even more than the Saracens did."  
He watched with interest as she readied her hypodermic and found a vein in his  
arm, then grimaced as he watched the red liquid fill the hypodermic. "You can  
just look at it and tell why I lost my memory?"  
  
"Well, no, I have to use a microscope---a thing that makes tiny things look  
big---and I mix chemicals with it and see what happens." At his uncomprehending  
look, she continued, "It's a doctor thing, don't worry about it."  
  
"I won't, but..." He sighed again and shook his head. "There is too much to  
learn, in too little time. I don't understand what I see. I hate it."  
  
"I know." She patted his hand. "Nicolas, will you be all right here if I leave  
for a few hours?"  
  
"Where will you go?" He looked apprehensive.  
  
She shook the vial of blood. "I want to take this to my laboratory. And then I  
have to buy some food, and feed my cat."  
  
"What about Lacroix? Will you be safe?"  
  
"Yes, of course. It's day, and he can only go out at night. You'll be fine, too,  
just don't answer the door."  
  
"No problem there. I don't know how," he said bitterly.  
  
She let that pass. "Oh, and there is a chance that your partner, Don Schanke,  
might stop by. He does now and then. So if you hear the elevator," she gestured  
at the elevator door, unsure if she had told him what it was called, "go  
upstairs. Don't let him know you're here." She tried to think of the other  
things that might happen to alarm him while she was gone. She pointed at the  
telephone, which up to this point had remained miraculously silent. "This might  
make a ringing noise. The box next to it is a, uh, mechanical secretary, and  
will take a message. You'll hear voices."  
  
He looked suddenly weary. Rising to his feet, he made a small bow and excused  
himself. "I'm going to the bedchamber now. I need to think. I will see you in a  
few hours?"  
  
She nodded. He went upstairs and disappeared into the bedroom, her gaze  
following him.  
  
Natalie gathered her things together and checked around the loft to make sure  
everything was safe to leave in Nick's uncertain custody. Satisfied, she went  
upstairs to tell him she was leaving.  
  
The door to his room was partially closed. She peeked around the edge, unwilling  
to disturb him if he was trying to sleep.  
  
Nick was on his knees next to the bed, his hands clasped in prayer. There was a  
look of unbearable sadness on his face as his lips moved silently, reciting  
words not spoken to God in eight centuries.  
  
She withdrew and silently left the loft.  
  
~~~~~  
  
Natalie decided not to deposit her new blood sample at the morgue---she didn't  
want to have to explain why she was drawing blood on her day off---and so went  
directly home. It would be fine in the back of her fridge for the meantime.  
  
She was greeted by a hurtling ball of gray fur. Sydney launched himself off the  
back of the sofa into her arms, mewing loudly. "So much for standoffish cats,  
huh?" she said affectionately as she scratched the sweet spot under his chin.  
  
He stayed in her arms just long enough to make his point, then squirmed to get  
down. He marched directly to his bowl, looking at her expectantly.  
  
Shaking her head at the constancies of cat ownership---feed, clean, feed,  
clean---she gave him a can of his favorite, far-too-expensive cat food and  
plopped down on the sofa.  
  
She stared at the scrap of paper on which she had written Lacroix's phone  
number. Or at least she assumed it was his---it had been in Nick's personal  
phone directory under an entry that read only "L." Picking up the phone and  
dialing was one of the hardest things she had ever had to do.  
  
As she listened to the phone ring on the other end, half-hoping it wasn't  
answered, she wiped her sweaty palms on her skirt and tried to calm her racing  
heart. She felt as if he would be able to hear it, right through the phone.  
Hell, he probably can, she thought. Just like he could torment Nick with those  
creepy radio monologues. He always seems to know everything.  
  
After seven rings, the phone was picked up. There was silence for a moment, then  
she heard that silken, sinister voice. "Yes?"  
  
"Lacroix? This is..."  
  
"Doctor Lambert." His voice was icy. He didn't say anything else, just waited  
for her to continue.  
  
She steeled herself and went on. "It's about Nick."  
  
"Of course. It's always about Nicholas."  
  
"We need your help."  
  
He laughed humorlessly and hung up.  
  
"Damn it!" she exploded, and hit the memory redial button. He picked up on the  
first ring.  
  
Natalie spoke quickly before he could say a word. "Don't you dare hang up on me  
again! Nick needs you to help him regain his memory. If you love him as much as  
you constantly say you do on that damned radio show of yours, act like a father  
and give him your help! Now, when he really needs it, and actually wants it!  
  
"This isn't a contest, Lacroix, with Nick as the prize. What happened, happened  
because he wanted it, not because I made him." She took a deep breath. "Do you  
want him to remember you as something other than a fiend? I know that you must  
have been close once, in spite of everything Nick has told me. Don't you want  
him to remember that?" She ran out of argument and fell silent, her heart in her  
mouth. She prayed, if one could pray for an ancient fiend, that Lacroix would  
listen to her.  
  
He waited so long to speak Natalie feared he had simply walked away from the  
phone while she spoke. Finally, he said, "Be at the loft tonight at nine," and  
hung up again with a decisive click.  
  
Natalie sat staring at the receiver, then hung it up. Her hands were shaking.  
She had no idea if Lacroix had agreed to meet them that night to order to help  
Nick, or to kill them both. Nick, I hope you say a prayer for us both, she  
thought. We're gonna need it.  
  
~~~~~  
  
After changing into more comfortable clothes and taking a shower, Natalie made a  
quick trip to the grocery store and stocked up on food, nothing that couldn't be  
fixed in a few minutes. Damned if I'm going to be cooking every free minute.  
He'd better get used to frozen dinners.  
  
When she got back to the loft, it was three o'clock. It's so strange to see the  
blinds up in the daytime, she thought, looking upward at the large second-story  
windows. I have to remember to move that poor cactus into the window. It'll  
appreciate real light instead of a grow lamp. She had asked Nick whatever  
possessed him to buy a plant, especially one that required sun, but he had just  
laughed and said it was a gift from a friend---Felix or something?---as a  
reminder of something or other. Somehow he had kept it alive, although it  
certainly hadn't grown an inch in the three years he had had it.  
  
She shrugged off the horticultural thoughts and lugged two of the three grocery  
bags into the elevator, punching the 'up' button with her elbow. "Nick!" she  
called when the door slid open. No answer. She spied him stretched out on the  
couch, just like he had often slept in his previous life. This time, however, he  
was snoring softly---something he never did as a vampire.  
  
She dumped the bundles on the kitchen table, went over to him and shook him.  
"Wake, up, Nicolas, I have some news."  
  
Nick started awake and leaped to his feet, his hand going again to his belt as  
if preparing to be attacked. Natalie jumped as well, startled at his reaction.  
  
When he saw it was Natalie, he colored slightly and said, "I beg your pardon,  
Natalie. I fear I've been a soldier too long." He regained his composure and  
straightened his clothes. At least he looked more rested than he had earlier.  
"How fares everything?"  
  
"Fine. I bought some more food, and the cat is set for another day." She led him  
over to the kitchen table, where she instructed him to unpack the bags. As he  
lifted things out, examining each package curiously, she continued, "I also  
called Lacroix. He's coming over here this evening, at nine. I think he's agreed  
to help."  
  
"You think he's agreed?" He paused, a pouch of salad-in-a-bag in his hand, and  
looked inquiringly at her. "What did he say?"  
  
"Well, nothing, really. He just said to be here at nine. We have to hope he's  
going to help." She picked up a small glass jar and showed it to him. "Just in  
case, I bought a weapon. Garlic juice. Vampires hate garlic, and this is very  
strong. It might not stop him, but it'll slow him down a bit."  
  
"Hmmmm. Is there any other weapon we can use? If the garlic isn't enough?"  
  
"I thought of that." She went to the table at the far end of the room, opened  
the plain box sitting there, and lifted out a crude wooden cross, just two thick  
sticks lashed together with leather strips. Holding it carefully, she showed it  
to Nick. "This cross belonged to a saint, Jeanne d'Arc. She gave it to you, many  
years ago. You've kept it all this time, even though a holy thing such as this  
could hurt you. Vampires can't tolerate holy symbols. Between this and the  
garlic juice, we might have a small chance if things go badly."  
  
Nicholas said wonderingly, "I knew a saint?"  
  
"Yes, you did. I'll tell you about it when we have more time." She carefully  
laid the cross on the counter next to the garlic juice, and said, "There's one  
more bundle of groceries downstairs in the car. I'll get it and be right back."  
  
"May I go with you? I promise not to faint with fear. I am becoming accustomed  
to the sight of this new world of mine." He smiled his little boy smile at her.  
"I had better learn to go outside. It's either that or join a monastery, hidden  
away from the world forever. And I don't think I want that."  
  
She laughed. "All right, you can come and carry the bag."  
  
"And then, would you take me out in your cart-without-a-horse? What do you call  
it?"  
  
"A car."  
  
"Your car, then. So I may see more of this magical city, this Toronto? Do we  
have time before we must prepare for Lacroix?"  
  
Natalie looked at him consideringly, then threw her caution to the winds. She  
shruggedand smiled. "Why not? You should see your new world. After all, we both  
might die tonight. Let's live a little!"  
  
They went down in the elevator together in companionable silence. Once outside,  
she gave Nick the grocery bag and sent him back upstairs by himself after  
instructing him on elevator operation. She laughed as he determinedly punched  
the buttons, a look of intense concentration on his face, and waved goodbye as  
the door rattled shut.  
  
Three minutes later, he arrived back downstairs, a pleased look on his face.  
"Ready to go?" she asked.  
  
"Yes, please." He looked upward at the skyline again, a look of interest instead  
of fear on his face.  
  
Natalie had an idea. "Let's take your car. It's the green one in there. The roof  
comes off so you'll be able to see better." She pointed to the garage. "I stole  
your keys when I left earlier." She jingled the key ring. "Now I can open that  
door."  
  
She did just that. Once in the garage, she settled Nick in the passenger seat of  
the Caddy, adjusted the seat so she could reach the pedals, and showed him how  
to buckle the seat belt. Inserting the key in the ignition, she warned, "Here  
comes some noise," and started the engine.  
  
Nick looked like a kid on his first amusement park ride---fear mixed with  
anticipation. "Now the roof comes off." She hunted around the dashboard and  
found the switch controlling the convertible top. With a jerk it rose up, then  
folded itself neatly into place. Nick watched in fascination. "And now," she  
said with a flourish, "the garage door." She pressed the remote on the visor and  
the door slid up smoothly.  
  
Putting the car in gear, she said gaily, "Here we go!" and drove out into the  
alley. Nick gripped the door handle as they started moving. She closed the  
garage door with the remote and headed into the street.  
  
As they merged into the afternoon traffic, Nick's face broke into a grin.  
"Amazing!" he said to her, as they motored sedately towards the center of the  
city at exactly the speed limit. "I have never traveled so fast!" He laughed and  
dared to put his hand over the doorsill, feeling the force of the slipstream.  
  
"Wait until we get on the highway." Natalie smiled at him briefly, and then put  
her eyes back on the road. Better not rubberneck, or I might pull a Nick and  
forget which lane I'm supposed to be in, she thought, grinning to herself.  
  
She drove down Yonge Street towards the lake and the CN Tower. Nick practically  
gave himself whiplash by trying to see everything at once on the busy, colorful  
street, asking questions nonstop. She zigzagged back and forth between Yonge and  
Spadina on the crowded downtown streets, pointing out the major city sights as  
if she were entertaining an out-of-town relative.  
  
They made a brief foray onto the Gardiner Expressway, but after three minutes at  
highway speed and several lane changes, Natalie noticed Nick was looking  
decidedly green around the edges and was clutching the door handle so hard his  
knuckles were white. She took the next exit ramp and ended up on Lake Shore  
Boulevard.  
  
Nick sighed with relief and relaxed when they slowed down. "I don't think I will  
ever get used to going that fast. It isn't natural!" He looked at her  
admiringly. "You are very good at this driving. Do all women drive?"  
  
"Look around." She gestured to the other cars on the road. "Practically everyone  
drives. And soon you will, too."  
  
"Of course. You say this is my car, correct?"  
  
"Yes, and those others in the garage. This one's your favorite, though---you  
treat it as though it were your child. It's old for a car, and most people  
consider it, uh, unique."  
  
Nick ran his hand along the top of the door. "I like it. But this color..." He  
made a face. "I think I like the black ones or red ones better."  
  
Natalie giggled. "I hope you remember this conversation when you get your memory  
back. You always get insulted when people say something about the color." She  
glanced at her watch. "Ohmigosh, it's six o'clock. Time to head for home and get  
ready."  
  
"So soon?" Nick looked disappointed.  
  
"We have to eat something, and you should get cleaned up. You've had the same  
clothes on for, what, almost two days now."  
  
"Is that a problem?" He looked down at himself. "They're not dirty."  
  
"Yes, well, it's customary to change clothes every day here. And bathe."  
  
He shook his head. "Amazing." He slanted a glance at her and added, "You'll have  
to tell me what clothes to wear. I don't know what is correct for the occasion."  
  
"Hmmm." Natalie pretended to think. "Entertaining a potentially deadly immortal  
demon. Sounds like a semi-casual affair to me. I'll see what's in your closet."  
  
The rest of the ride passed in silence, except for the occasional question from  
Nick. He was much more at ease, slouching back in the seat and occasionally  
gazing straight upwards into the sky.  
  
When at last the Caddy was safely back in the garage and the engine shut off,  
Nick turned to her and said seriously, "Thank you, Natalie, for everything. For  
telling me the truth, and explaining about where I am. I think what is to come  
will be difficult, but we will get through it. I prayed this afternoon for us,  
Natalie. We must have faith that all will be well."  
  
Natalie took his hand. "I hope so, Nicolas." She squeezed his hand lightly. "But  
God helps those who help themselves, so let's go get ready."  
  
He fought briefly with his seat belt, managed to unbuckle it, and climbed out of  
the car. "By all means, let us get ready." He smiled. "And let us eat, too. I'm  
hungry."  
  
~~~~~  
  
Once back in the loft, Natalie hunted through Nick's closet and drawers for some  
fresh clothes. Handing Nick a neat stack of underwear, socks, shirt and jeans,  
she looked at him critically and told him, "Time for some more lessons in  
plumbing. I'll show you how the shower works."  
  
In the bathroom she pointed out the faucets and told him how to control the  
temperature. "Here's the soap...this is soap for your hair---just use a  
little!---here's a washcloth..." She turned to the door, checking to make sure  
there were towels on the rack. "I'll get dinner started. We'll eat in a little  
while."  
  
Walking down the stairs, she could hear water gushing. At least he'll meet  
Lacroix and whatever grief he brings tonight clean and fed, she thought  
fatalistically. And wearing clean underwear.  
  
In the end, Natalie was too apprehensive to try to cook any of the food she had  
bought that afternoon. After staring in the open refrigerator for five minutes  
without inspiration, she finally ordered Chinese takeout from the Golden Lotus.  
She was a long-standing customer---or rather Nick was, since he usually paid for  
her dinner when she ate at his place.  
  
Mr. Wu seemed surprised she ordered dinner for two instead of one. "Mr. Knight  
has finally decided to join you? Excellent. I will include a special treat for  
you both. No charge. Once he has tasted Mrs. Wu's shrimp eggroll, he will never  
let you eat alone again."  
  
Nick came downstairs tousled and pink from his shower just as Natalie was paying  
Mr. Wu's teenage son, Henry, for the large white bag of takeout. "Dinner's  
here!" she announced, "I ordered food from a restaurant near here instead of  
cooking."  
  
"You can order a meal from an inn and they will bring it to you?" he asked,  
opening the bag and removing the fragrant white containers. "Very convenient.  
What is this?" He started opening boxes.  
  
Natalie handed him a fork and a plate. "This is Chinese food---uhh, from  
Cathay?" she looked inquiringly to see if he had heard of that name for China.  
He shook his head. "From far to the East, then. Farther than Jerusalem."  
  
Nick scooped a portion from each box onto his plate with the fork. "And what do  
you call this?" he asked, indicating the fork.  
  
Natalie looked up from her own plate, her eyebrow raised. "A fork, of course."  
  
"A fork." He weighed it in his hand consideringly. "It's a good idea---like a  
knife and spoon put together." He tentatively took a bite of moo shu pork.  
"Ummmm. I think I like Chinese food." He smiled. "And forks, and showers. Life  
is very easy in these times."  
  
She shook her head. "Not all the time. Tonight will be difficult. So eat your  
dinner---but not too much, please. Remember, you haven't eaten this kind of food  
before. And you're not used to eating solid food. I don't want you to get sick  
again."  
  
"Very well, Mademoiselle Doctor."  
  
They finished their meal in silence, the conversation suddenly run dry. Natalie  
was becoming more nervous by the minute as nine o'clock approached. She threw  
the now-empty take-out cartons in the garbage and put their plates in the sink.  
"Let's think about what we will do." She didn't have to explain what she meant.  
  
"You said the garlic and the holy relic will protect us."  
  
"No, I said they would help. But Lacroix is strong---I don't know how much  
effect they will have." She fished a couple of specimen containers out of her  
medical bag. The small glass vials with plastic caps were perfect for keeping a  
small amount of garlic juice handily concealed in a pocket. She divided the  
garlic juice between the two vials and handed Nick one. "Keep this in your  
pocket. If things get dangerous, take the top off and throw it in his face."  
  
Nick accepted the vial and said, "In my what?"  
  
"Your pocket---oh, good grief, didn't you have pockets?" She reached forward and  
tugged at the edge of the front pocket of his jeans. "This is a pocket. You put  
stuff in it."  
  
"Oh." He stowed the vial in the pocket and patted it to make sure it was safe.  
"And the cross?"  
  
Natalie looked around. Where could she put it? Somewhere central, where either  
of them could reach it. "How about in this drawer?" She indicated the top drawer  
of the small table next to the couch.  
  
Nick nodded his assent. "Very well. And I will keep the knife at hand. You say  
it cannot kill him, but it may distract him enough to give you a chance to  
escape."  
  
Natalie blew out a breath. "I guess there's nothing else we can do, except  
wait." She knew these few preparations were probably useless, but going through  
the motions made her feel better, somehow. She looked at her watch. Ten minutes  
to nine. It was almost full dark. "He'll be here soon, and I bet he'll come  
through the skylight." She pointed to the shattered skylight, still swinging  
loose on its hinges.  
  
Nick seated himself in one of the armchairs, facing the skylight. He shoved the  
knife down between the cushion and the arm. "So let us wait, and pray God will  
protect us."  
  
Natalie turned on some lamps, then sat in the other chair to wait. The tension  
was almost unbearable. She felt like she was awaiting the onslaught of a  
thunderstorm, watching the black storm clouds approaching. All you could do was  
watch and wait for the unavoidable with all its potential destruction. Unbidden  
her hand reached out across the small table between them and took Nick's hand.  
He squeezed hers lightly and smiled briefly at her, then resumed watching the  
skylight.  
  
Life or death would soon arrive.  
  
~~~~~  
  
Lacroix arrived with a barely-perceived blur of motion and a whoosh of displaced  
air---and he wasn't alone. Standing next to Lacroix's imposing form was a small,  
slender man who appraised Nick and Natalie with a cool, disinterested stare.  
  
Lacroix's companion was not much over five foot four, and couldn't have weighed  
more than 120 pounds. He appeared to be in his middle twenties, with medium  
length, straight dark brown hair, brown, almost black eyes, and a long, straight  
nose. He looked vaguely Middle Eastern---his darker complexion was evident even  
with his vampire pallor. He wore a conservative, expensive suit and shirt,  
without a tie. On the surface he appeared to be a young businessman, but he  
carried with him the aura of unspeakable age and tightly-leashed power only a  
truly ancient vampire could possess. Instinctively Natalie knew this was a being  
even older than Lacroix.  
  
They had both jumped when the two vampires seemed to appear out of nowhere.  
Natalie felt Nick's hand close convulsively on hers, then fall away in readiness  
for whatever was to come.  
  
"Bon soir, Nicolas." Lacroix's voice sounded amused and superior. He rattled off  
something in Brabantish.  
  
Natalie breathed a mental sigh of relief, glad that Lacroix wasn't enraged as he  
had been on his last visit---although Lacroix in a coldly sadistic mood wasn't  
much better in terms of their survival. She shot a glance at the stranger. He  
merely stared back with eyes as old and cold as a grave. She looked away.  
  
Nick answered curtly. "Speak French. I wish Natalie to understand what you say."  
  
"Oh, you've made a friend, have you? Very well." He sketched a bow in Natalie's  
direction. "Charmed as always, Doctor Lambert."  
  
She nodded. "Lacroix."  
  
"Will you do us the courtesy of introducing your companion?" Nick asked, looking  
at the silent man.  
  
The stranger spoke, his voice a light tenor. "There is no need for names. I am  
here to repay this one," he jerked his head at Lacroix, "for a favor long past  
due. Get on with it, Lucius. Your endless games are annoying."  
  
Lacroix nodded, accepting the reprimand---but not meekly, Natalie noted, seeing  
his lips compress in displeasure. Not many beings could tell Lacroix what to do  
and be obeyed, but this nameless ancient one was obviously one of them.  
  
"One thing first." He turned to Nick, his usual sardonic demeanor dropping away.  
Natalie saw a facet of Lacroix he kept hidden carefully away from everyone,  
perhaps even himself. She saw the face of a man coming to terms with the  
inevitability of loss. "Nicolas, you desire a favor from me. Even though you  
have rejected everything I have given you, everything I have done for you---  
rejected me---you now come asking yet again." Lacroix's face contorted, a pale  
blur in the dim light. He drew breath and continued.  
  
"Tell me why I should grant this favor. Tell me why I should release you from  
the prison of forgetfulness and mortality you have made for yourself, knowing  
that if I do, you will only remember your resentments and hatreds. Tell me why I  
should not just kill you and Doctor Lambert, since your poisonous blood makes it  
impossible for me to bring you back to immortality. Tell me why."  
  
The question hung quivering in the air. No one moved for a moment. The defiance  
had drained from Nick's face as he listened to Lacroix's litany of grief.  
Natalie wondered if Lacroix had struck some small chord of memory, an echo of  
familiarity, in Nick's consciousness.  
  
Nick looked down for a moment, turning the gold ring on his finger as he  
thought. He seemed to come to a decision and, to Natalie's surprise, gracefully  
dropped to one knee, grasped Lacroix's hand and pressed it to his bowed head. He  
drew a deep breath. "I beg this boon, Lord. I can only say that without my  
memory, I can give you no reasons to ease your hurt, save that I am incomplete,  
and it is within your power to make me whole.  
  
"Mademoiselle Natalie tells me you consider me your son. Now that the  
enchantment has been removed from me I can no longer be a son to you, if ever I  
were. And if I regain my memory of eight hundred years, I cannot know what kind  
of a man I will be. I know I am not the same man I was ten years ago---ten of my  
years---before I went to war and learned the cruel lessons of the world. The  
lessons of eight hundred years can only change me more.  
  
"But I swear, Lord, that if you grant this favor, and do not require ungodly  
acts of me, I will not reject you." Nick fell silent, his head still bowed in  
supplication. The lamplight gleamed on the heavy gold signet ring on his finger,  
the sigil of his long-dead house.  
  
Lacroix whispered, "How can I believe this?"  
  
Nick raised his eyes and looked steadily into the severe face. "Faith. Although  
my memory is but a shabby cloak, I must believe my honor is still intact---it is  
dearer to me than life itself. Have faith in my honor that I will keep my  
promise."  
  
Natalie stood wondering at the tableau before her, a scene from a forgotten age.  
It was hard for her to reconcile the often tongue-tied Nick of her time to the  
moving eloquence she had just heard. She held her breath, waiting for Lacroix's  
reply.  
  
"Yes. Yes, damn you, the favor is yours." His voice was shot through with pain.  
"Let us complete this charade." The outstretched hand ran through Nick's hair,  
almost a caress, then was withdrawn. He turned towards the stranger and said,  
"Now. The debt is due."  
  
The slight man stepped forward as Nick stood up. "Look at me," he commanded.  
  
Nick straightened, making the sign of the cross as he braced himself. He looked  
at Natalie, his gaze seeking her support, then turned to the stranger. He looked  
into the cold dark eyes.  
  
The air charged with energy, so thick Natalie thought she could touch it. Nick  
seemed frozen in place, immovable, his eyes locked on the stranger's, his hands  
trembling at his sides. The stranger reached out and touched Nick's brow.  
"Remember," he said softly. Then he turned away and said to Lacroix, "It is  
done. The debt is paid. I will hear no more from you." Then with a small clap of  
displaced air, he was gone.  
  
Nick was trembling, the shaking getting more and more violent, his eyes staring  
wildly. Suddenly he clutched his head and screamed, a high thin wail of terror  
and despair. He dropped to the floor and curled into a ball, the scream turning  
to sobs. Blood spurted from his nose.  
  
Natalie sprang forward and knelt beside him, vainly trying to calm him, to  
stanch the blood and get through to him somehow. "Lacroix!" she screamed,  
"What's wrong?" She cradled Nick's head in her lap.  
  
"He has remembered eight hundred years in the span of ten seconds," he replied  
quietly. "A heavy burden to take up at once, indeed."  
  
Nick fell silent, his tremors stilled. He had passed out.  
  
Lacroix stooped and picked up the limp form. "I will take him upstairs," he  
informed Natalie, and moved towards the stairs, cradling his son in his arms.  
  
Natalie sat back on her heels, her head swimming. Remotely, she saw Nick's blood  
had stained her pants leg. Levering herself to her feet, she followed in  
Lacroix's wake.  
  
She trudged heavily up the stairs and went to Nick's bedroom. Lacroix had laid  
him on the bed and covered him with the same blanket she had used, a scant  
forty-eight hours earlier, to keep him warm as he became mortal. Had it only  
been that long? It felt like a lifetime.  
  
Lacroix was sitting on the edge of the bed, looking at Nick. The expression on  
his face was unreadable.  
  
Natalie sank into the chair, still at the side of the bed. "Why didn't you do  
it?" she asked. "Why did that, that person have to crawl into his mind?"  
  
Lacroix didn't answer. He put his hand over Nick's and ran his finger lightly  
over the gold ring. Finally, he said, "I knew from his blood I would be unable  
to reach the place where his mind had retreated. As old as I am, I am not strong  
enough to combat both the effect of the drugs you gave him and his desire to put  
the past behind. But I knew the---ancient one---could." The admission of  
powerlessness was obviously hard to make.  
  
"He spoke of a debt..."  
  
"Ancient history." He smiled thinly. "It doesn't matter---the debt is repaid,  
the scales once again balanced."  
  
She looked at Nick, twitching in his uneasy oblivion. "Will he be all right?"  
  
"He will die. Not now, but eventually. But that is what you both want, so I  
suppose you will be satisfied." His tone was bitter.  
  
"I'm not going to apologize to you," she said. "But I wish..." her voice trailed  
off.  
  
"What? That my feelings weren't hurt? That you didn't take my son from me? Don't  
be hypocritical, Doctor, it ill becomes you. Atropos has cut this thread. It is  
done." He stood and was gone.  
  
Natalie was left looking at the spot where he had been sitting. Had Lacroix  
truly given up trying to possess Nick, body and soul, after so many hundreds of  
years? She could scarcely believe he had become reconciled to his loss, but it  
seemed so. Perhaps Nick's promise not to reject him made it possible. In the  
end, she supposed, he couldn't bring himself to destroy his beloved son. If he  
couldn't have him in immortality, he would have a small piece of him for the  
rest of his days.  
  
Nick moaned in his sleep. The blood from his nosebleed had dried on his face and  
stained the bedspread. Natalie got up, retrieved a dampened washcloth from the  
bathroom, and gently cleaned his face, then rearranged the blanket more securely  
around his restless limbs. What would his state of mind be when he awoke? Would  
he again take up the heavy burden of guilt he had carried for hundreds of years?  
Or would his renewed mortality help him find forgiveness and reconciliation?  
  
God, she was tired.  
  
Throwing away any thoughts of propriety, Natalie crawled onto the bed next to  
him, pulling the blanket up over herself. She snuggled into his turned back and  
draped an arm over his shoulders. Perhaps the feeling of closeness would ease  
his restlessness and ease his dreams.  
  
Her eyes drooped and she fell asleep.  
  
~~~~~  
  
Natalie awoke as her shoulder was gently shaken. She heard a voice calling her  
name. She cracked a bleary eye and squinted.  
  
Nick smiled down at her. "Natalie, wake up."  
  
Then with a smile, "I remember."  
  
Finis  
  
  



End file.
